Lynne's Love Triangle (16 page)

* * * *

“So have you been making any more sex movies in your spare time?”

God, she wanted to just slap the smile right off his face. “Steve, that’s totally inappropriate.”

“It’s in the public domain now, Lynne. Everyone has seen the video and knows what you’ve done.”

“So I take it you’ve seen the video?”

“I’ve watched it a few times now, wondering what a girl like you sees in men like that.” He replied nonchalantly. “But I’m sure your students have seen it a few hundred times more than me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right, but none of them had the nerve to bring it up.” Lynne picked up her tray and stood to leave.

Steve pulled her back down. “Leaving so soon? Don’t you like the company? Or is one man not enough for you?”

“Troy and Kurt are more of a gentleman than you’ll ever be.” That stung even though it shouldn’t have. She was lucky to have such two attentive lovers, and there was no comparison to Steve. She broke up with him because he was a germaphobic, book-smart idiot, but telling him so would just piss him off more. “I don’t like the conversation and lost my appetite. I had plans to go pick up something to read at the bookstore anyway.”

“Didn’t think you still cared about literature or higher education any longer with all your evening activities.” His snide comment was spoken under his breath.

Lynne had no plans to stick around and take this kind of abuse from a man who she had no future with. Getting into a debate with him, or attempting to defend herself was just—plain stupid. “See you around, Steve.”

“I’m sure you will.” The ominous way he said that sent a shiver clear down her spine, but she refused to believe it was her creepy ex-boyfriend being any more than just plain weird.

* * * *

Lynne trailed her fingers over the glossy bindings, reveling in the feel of the new mass market paperback books. There was something about the feel of a book in her hand that just comforted her. She could escape her daily grind and forget all the problems of her world for a few hours within the covers of a good book.

She picked up a fantasy novel. The cover looked promising with a red dragon flying next to two moons. The book was set on a distant world, sporting a warrior woman carrying a sword and looking into the horizon. It promised magic, adventure, and the strength that she desperately needed to face her own life.

After reading the blurb on the back cover and the short excerpt, she picked up two other books in the series by the same author and went to the cashier to pay for her purchase. Three books would keep her busy for a couple of days, and if she was lucky, her friend would be awake by the time she finished, but until then it would give her something to do while she sat by her bedside.

She thanked the cashier and walked out the bookstore with her bag. Normally she would love to spend hours browsing the bookstore with a tall cup of coffee from the café, but today she just wanted to get back to the hospital. She really wanted to be there when she woke up.

The detective had called asking to question Sandy as well, and Lynne was as hopeful as he was Sandy could give a description to the police when she was finally conscious.

A constant niggling worry worked at her gut. A quiet voice telling her that friend wouldn’t wake up, nothing would change and no one would find her attacker. The same man could attack at any time and it frightened her. Lynne was vulnerable. It could have been a random hit, but it could have been planned. Being in a secure building with gates made her think that the man may be someone she knew. Someone who lived in the complex, and she may have even walked by every day, but who could it be?

No one seemed to show any malice towards her. The complex had very few people who would lean towards any criminal activity. Mostly families lived here, but there were a few bachelors and a few seniors. Lynne couldn’t think one bad thing about any of them.

So the question remained—just how did the vandal get into her condo? Did he scale the six-foot iron gates, or come with a pass code? He had incredible strength to have kicked down her door and through her locks and deadbolt.

But exactly who it could have been—who could have done such exceptional physical damage to her friend—escaped her mind completely.

The bad thing about visiting the bookstore downtown was it was always packed with kids from the local university. Parking was at a premium, and today was no exception. Every parking spot in front of the store was taken, forcing Lynne to park in an alley behind the store.

She neared her silver Honda and clicked the alarm on her key ring, unlocking her car doors and resetting the alarm.

It still had the new car smell when she sat down inside of it. She bought the car while she was still employed only a few months ago, but she would have to find a new job soon to pay for it or risk losing it.

She tossed the bag of books on the passenger seat next to her and shut the driver’s side door. She pulled the seatbelt strap over her shoulder, clasped it in place, and then turned the key.

Suddenly the passenger door opened, and a man sat down inside her car. Her mind slowed down, registering all the vital things she needed to know. Every detail that said she was in an incredible amount of danger.

A black ski mask covered the features of his face, and he held a gun at her chest. She was paralyzed in place with fear.

“Don’t scream—just drive.”

Holy shit.

She was staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Don’t look at me. Just drive.”

She swallowed hard, fighting to stay calm. Her heart raced, and she could barely breathe, barely speak. She wanted to run—but what were her odds of survival then? He would just shoot her in the back.

Here, there were no witnesses, no one to see her die, and the guy would probably get away with the vicious act with no consequences.

Fuck that!

She turned the car on and backed out of her parking space to enter the main road. She traveled slowly, thinking about what she wanted to do. She could fight him, she could try to run. She could try to crash the car. If she was lucky, he would fly through the windshield.

“Where do you want to go?” She kept her voice low and quiet—as calming as she could be in a situation like this. She needed to try to talk to him, and if she were really lucky he could be talked out of hurting her. “Do you want me to get on the freeway?”

She was headed towards downtown now, but if he wanted to go somewhere secluded so he could rape her—he’d have to take a major thoroughfare of some sort.

Her stomach coiled in knots as her mind whirled. This was not a coincidence was it? It couldn’t be. Her best friend in the world was viciously attacked in her apartment, and not even a week later a man tried to accost her at gunpoint.

“No, make a right down this street.”

“I can give you the car. Let me get out, and you can have it. Along with everything that’s in my purse.” She attempted to bargain with him.

“I don’t give a damn about your money.”

“What do you plan to do with me?” She turned towards him again. “You will have to let me go sometime. Someone is going to notice I have gone missing.”

“Not before it’s too late.”

Oh shit! Too late—what the fuck did he mean by too late?

“Do you plan to kill me?” She raised the nerve to ask.

“I plan to rape you. I have needs. I know I’m sick, but a girl like you can understand where I am coming from.”

Jesus—fucking—Christ! Was this the same asshole that hurt her friend? So many questions ran through her mind at that moment, but there were a few she had to know. “But do you plan to kill me? Afterwards?”

“I don’t know yet. You can ID me, and if I let you loose—I just don’t know.”

“Please! I have no idea who you are, and I don’t care. I won’t tell—just don’t kill me, okay?” She tried arguing—tried begging, but what if he didn’t listen to anything? What if it still ended badly? How much could she really trust a guy with a gun pointed to her head?

It raised an answer that didn’t bear thinking about. She would die no matter what she did or didn’t do, but most of the tips to escape these hostage situations said she should agree with him, go along willingly, and do as he asked, but if she did all that and still died—what did it matter? She could get raped—and then die or just die by getting shot first.

What kind of fucking choice was that?

“Just keep driving, and let me think.” He waved the gun in midair.

She gave him a quick glance, trying to remember something about him. Something that may help to identify him later on. No tattoos, no marks that stood out but his hands were white. That was something, wasn’t it?

“Don’t look at me—just drive!” He hit her with the butt of the pistol, bringing her attention back to the danger of this situation.

“Okay—okay I don’t want any trouble. I just don’t know what you want from me.”

“I’ll tell you when it’s time.”

She had her cell phone in her left pocket, and it might be her chance to let someone know she was in trouble. Someone who might be able to help her if she was shot. Careful to not get his attention, she used her left hand to slip into her coat pocket and dialed 9-1-1. Hopefully, he wouldn’t hear the phone dial, and the operator would hear her pleas for help.

“Okay just don’t hurt me.”

“I told you to do as you’re told, and it won’t be an issue.”

“Okay.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What’s in your pocket—is that a cell phone—give it to me!”

Damn it—there went her only chance for salvation. If he took the cell phone from her, how was she supposed to get help?

“Nothing.” She handed him her pack of tissues first, hoping he would take it and be happy.

“Keep your hands on the goddamn steering wheel where I can see them.”

“Okay—I’m doing it.” Her white knuckles gripped the steering wheel looking for her out. Her one chance for survival. “I’m not trying to piss you off. I’m scared and nervous.”

“No heroics and you’ll be fine, okay?”

“Sure.” The last thing she was feeling right now was heroic. Scared—ready to shit her pants, and her fight or flight response was kicking in sending her adrenaline on all time high, but her instincts were telling her to run, not stay and fight.

Cop car. Cop car! Holy crap—she was lucky. There was a cop car coming up on her right hand side of the street. Parked behind a min-van he just pulled over and was giving a ticket to.

She hit the accelerator, slamming the thin pedal to the floor and rocking her back in her seat. Well, sort of. Her car revved against her command and jolted down the one lane street into the telephone pole she aimed for.

“Fucking bitch! Stop!”

The airbags went off, and her alarm sounded. The impact sent her attacker face first into the bag, and she heard a loud thump. Maybe it was his rotten head hitting the door and would split like a melon. Metal twisted and sounds of impact rang through the air. Pain ripped through her body, and she registered dimly where she was hurt.

The airbag had slammed into her chest and face. sending a white dust flying through the air. It settled over her body, and she took a deep breath before she had a chance to think. Coughing and wheezing, Lynne threw open the door and ran for her life. Her legs pounded the pavement straight for the police car.

“Help!” Her lungs burned, her muscles ached. It was at least fifty feet to the black and white police cruiser, but she had to make it. She had no choice. She waited for the sound of gunshots behind her, and when they didn’t come, she kept running. Kept screaming. “Help me!”

She could read the surprise on the police officer's face, and when he turned to face her, he had his hand on his gun.

She ran to his side. “He has a gun! Help me.”

“Get into the car ma’am, and you’ll be safe.” He ushered her into the back of his car. He radioed quickly for back up, and three cars swarmed the area in what seemed to only take a heartbeat.

Lynne threw her hands up to cover her face and cried, knowing she was finally safe.

Two officers pulled their guns out of the holster to approach the wrecked vehicle, yelling some commands to it. As if there was a person still inside.

She watched and waited while they investigated the now empty car. Her officer, the first one who had seen her, approached her and opened the door.

“Did you find him?”

“No, he managed to run off, but I need a description so I can get an APB out on him.”

“I didn’t get a good look at him. He was wearing a ski mask, and it covered his face, but he was wearing blue jeans with a white T-shirt, and he was a white male, about my height.” She felt as frustrated as the cop probably felt. The description was useless and didn’t narrow the suspect list down at all.

“Don’t worry—we’ll find him. You were very lucky to escape.”

“Yeah, I only had to total my car.” She rolled her eyes.

“We didn’t find his weapon, but we did find some zip ties and a pair of blacked out goggles. They weren’t yours were they?”

“Ugh, no.”